


living is starting to feel like a past time(dying is starting to sound a little interesting)

by thebeasknees



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Burning, Gen, Relapsing, So much angst, because this is Connor Murphy, lost of cursing, oh also first person, that good teenage pity, this was made in a short period of time i do not write like this usually lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27096205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeasknees/pseuds/thebeasknees
Summary: Connor can't cry.Or: Angst. Also Connor is younger in this, like, 13-15, so yay!
Relationships: None
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	living is starting to feel like a past time(dying is starting to sound a little interesting)

I can't cry.

The tears aren't coming. I'm blinking as hard as he can and I'm gasping for breath and that feeling, that feeling that I live for, that keeps me alive isn't coming. I need it to be present. That's like. The entire point of why I even put on this stupid fucking cheesy music.

But it's not coming.

I can't feel anything. I can't feel anything at all and it bothers me so much, why can't I feel? Have I run out of tears to cry? 

Sounds stupid. You can't run out of tears. Of  _ course  _ you can't. Who runs out of tears?

_ You,  _ I think,  _ Because all you ever do is cry. _

I hum in agreement.

My brain has a good point.

Tomorrow is school. There's class and there's words and there' s shit to do. There's  _ so  _ much work- maybe twenty five missing assignments, and if I'd just do them maybe they would be easy.

But they aren't.

So I'm here. In my room under my blankets with these old, dumb headphones on trying to sob and nothing is coming out.

I just want to  _ feel  _ something.

I was just crying, just a moment ago- and it was good. I couldn't breathe and the air was strong and my clothes were tight and everything was in that moment, just in that moment.

But it passed. It passed and now it's gone.

So I sit here. I sit here and take my headphones off and even though I want to be angry at something, anything, I don't have the energy to. Or I don't bother to be.

Often I get angry over nothing. Often I get angry over the air breezing me the wrong way. Often I get angry over past things that don't affect me anymore.

Often I get angry and then push it all done because I don't  _ want  _ to be angry- I would rather be sad. Sobbing. Anxious. I can never get out my anger correctly. I can't scream, my house is always full- I can't punch at anything, I can't  _ yell-  _ yelling is different from screaming.

  
  
  


I feel empty. Empty like a water bottle or something.

Living is starting to get a little harder. Just a little. 

Nobody should worry, though.

I'm  _ fine.  _ Just because I like crying doesn't mean I'm in need of comfort. I'm fine. I don't need to be comforted.

  
  


I'm  _ fine. _

Then, there's an idea that pops into my head. It's brief, and then holds itself out, long and halted- and it stays there, in my brain, for just a little.

_ A burn would feel nice. _

  
  


A burn. The thing I do sometimes when living is getting a bit boring. When pushing away everyone is at this point entertainment. When fucking up everything at least makes things just a tiny more interesting.

  
  


A burn is what I do when I prefer to  _ not  _ ruin relationships.

  
  


So I grab the lighter. It's in my counter, in the top part, and it's red. A little scratchy looking, but, whatever.

A lighter of my own. I guess I should give it a name, one day.

  
  


I grab it and do The Flicky Thing that lights it up, and stare at it.

_ So, Connor. Are you gonna do what you always do?  _

_ Or are you going to be a little bitch and turn to something dumb like  _ _ this.  _ _ So many people would be disappointed in this, if they saw you like this, you know. _

Well.

I guess being a little bitch is my choice for the night.


End file.
